


Death and the Maiden

by Penthesilea1623



Series: Come Back Home [7]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:25:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2583008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penthesilea1623/pseuds/Penthesilea1623
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In honor of N7 day, Death and the Maiden. Takes place immediately after Ophelia Shepard has chosen the 'destroy' option at the end of the game. Shepard runs into an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Death and the Maiden

An explosion. Agony and fire and light. And then for a moment nothing. No sound, no pain, no light.

Only darkness.

And then, just as abruptly, she was standing by the bar in the softly lit lounge on the Normandy. The absence of pain was almost startling, as was the silence, or rather the near silence. She could hear the dim soothing hum of the Normandy’s engines, but that was a comforting sound. 

Relief flooded through her. She was home. 

Since the Reapers had invaded Earth that was what the Normandy had become, more than any place since she’d left Mindoir. The Normandy was where her family was, almost everyone left that she loved, and this room was the place where they met and laughed and drank, where they gathered to talk and reminisce and to relax as much as one could with the Reapers bearing down on every system in the galaxy. Anderson’s apartment on the Citadel was beautiful, but in the way a luxury hotel room was, or a favorite relative’s too fancy house. It wasn’t home. This was home. She exhaled, feeling herself relax. 

_This isn’t real._ The awareness nagged at the back of her brain. _You were on the Citadel. The Crucible. The Catalyst._

She tried to ignore it but it persisted.

_You were bleeding and broken and every inch of you was screaming in pain. This isn’t real._

She pushed the voice back, and reached under the bar for the bottle of wine, red wine specifically, that she knew would be there. She was the only one on the ship who drank it: the others preferred their spirits harder but Liara made certain that there was always some kind of red wine for her. One of the advantages of having the Shadow Broker for her friend. Ophelia Shepard had never been much of a drinker; she simply didn’t like the taste of it. Red wine was one of the few alcoholic beverages she enjoyed. Yet another thing that had distanced her from her fellow Alliance soldiers her whole career, yet another thing that had helped build that image of the Goddess, distant, uninterested in fitting in with all the rest. When she’d enlisted she’d still been raw from what had happened on Mindoir and she’d welcomed the distance, and by the time she’d begun to regret it was too late. The image was too fixed. Commander Ophelia Shepard. The Goddess.

It had taken dying and coming back for her to discard the Goddess. It had taken the people from the Illusive Man’s dossiers, all of them as wounded and broken and isolated as she was; some even more so. All of them needing something, needing to fix the gaping holes left by violence or loss, by anger or sorrow. They’d needed more than a coolly efficient commanding officer, and eventually she’d found that she’d needed it too. The start of her family. The start of the Normandy becoming home.

She started to look under the bar for a glass and then realized there was one on the bar already, right beside the bottle of wine. Only when it was in her hand did she realize it hadn’t been there a moment before. That was…odd.

She dismissed the thought. She hadn’t noticed it, was all. Small wonder after everything that had happened tonight, London and the beam and the Citadel.

The Catalyst. She frowned as she pulled the cork out of the bottle.

_You have to choose._

She poured herself a glass. 

_You have to decide._

“I’ll take a glass as well if there’s enough.” The voice was cultured and smooth and familiar.

“Sure.” She replied absently and reached for a second glass that had appeared beside hers, filling it as well. When she’d finished she recorked the bottle and replaced it beneath the bar.

As she stared at the two glasses her heart began to pound. She knew who was at the end of the bar.

Or to be more precise she knew that she knew who it was, and she knew that if she looked at him she’d know for certain and she really, really didn’t want to look.

It wasn’t fear, not exactly. 

To look would be the acknowledgement of a truth she wasn’t willing to admit yet. 

When he spoke again his voice was strangely gentle. “Don’t I get my wine?”

She slid the wine glass down the bar, trying to ignore the brush of his fingers against hers when he took it.

“Who are you?” She asked, staring down at the bar in front of her. “I know you, don’t I?”

“If you looked at me you’d remember.”

She’d known that somehow. It didn’t make her want to look any more. She didn’t lift her head.

She heard him sigh, and saw him out of the corner of her eye, walking towards her, all in black, elegant, graceful as a panther. He stopped in front of her and she watched as he reached to touch her hand.

She braced herself against that touch, but the hand that reached out to take hers was perfectly ordinary, elegant, well-manicured, silver knot cuff links on French cuffs showing at his wrists. His fingers twined through hers, warm, strong, and…comforting. Familiar. “I’ve missed you.” He told her. His voice was as warm as his hand.

“You don’t belong here.” She told him pulling her hand free. She was certain of that much.

He paused and then pulled his hands back, reaching for his wine again and taking a sip before answering her. “You chose our location, Ophelia. I have to say I preferred the last place.”

“The last place?” But the memory was already there. Yes. There had been a last place. Warm and peaceful. 

“That place on the beach." He reminded her. "Now that was an enjoyable interlude, though I suppose almost two years could hardly be counted an interlude, could it? Normally, I don’t linger so long. “

She finally looked over at him, not at his face, not yet. Her eyes started at his feet, and moved up. He wore black, all black: black shirt, black waistcoat, black tie, black jacket, even a black silk pocket square, all immaculately tailored, something off the pages of a fashion magazine, but at the same time there was something timeless about the clothes. 

She finally lifted her eyes to look at his face. 

It was as perfect as the rest of him, all sculpted cheekbones and jaw, and full lips curving into a smile as she watched. And he seemed young, so young, barely out of his teens, but when she looked into his eyes, she knew that wasn’t the case. They were light blue, warm and gentle and contained the knowledge of the ages. And she knew then…

“ _Because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me._ ” She quoted, her voice a soft murmur. 

He raised his glass in salute. “Very good. Emily Dickinson. Sweet girl. A bit clingy.” He smiled down at her. “I told you you’d remember.”

She did. And she remembered the island, an idealized version of that island where she and Kaidan had spent their shore leave after the Battle of the Citadel.

But it hadn’t been Kaidan there with her that time. 

It had been him. Death. He’d been dressed differently. Faded and torn jeans, sometimes with an open shirt tossed over them, but usually not, and there had been golden streaks in that thick brown hair, and the hair had been longer. The face was the same. The smile was the same and she remembered everything.

They’d walked on the beach for hours, for days, had sat and talked endlessly, digging their toes into the sand, watching the sun set. 

He’d wanted her to leave with him, had tried to convince her, but she’d refused.

“Have you come back for me?” She asked. .

He seemed to consider the idea. “You could actually say that I’ve never truly left you. That’s certainly not my usual practice, and it’s caused some speculation, hasn’t it? Isn’t that what all the news reports have said? Death follows in Commander Shepard’s wake.” He had a teasing smile on his face that appalled her.

“Are you saying all this destruction is somehow my fault? “ She asked defensively

For the first time he seemed disappointed in her. “Oh, Ophelia. How boringly literal of you. I was making a rather clever joke, I thought. You know as well as I that the destruction was inevitable. In point of fact you kept it from being worse.”

She scowled at him. “I think I preferred you on the beach. You’re rather annoyingly superior like this. And don’t you think all that black is a trifle heavy handed for Death?” 

He grinned at her and he was in the ripped and faded jeans he’d been wearing the first time she’d met him. His hair was longer, and as streaked and tangled as if he’d spent the day in the ocean. His nose was even a bit sunburned. He looked like a teenager now.

“This can’t be what you truly look like. Death is a teenage beach bum?”

“My dear girl, I didn’t choose this form. You did. Take a closer look and I think you’ll realize why.” 

Still frowning she walked closer. Recognition flared. “Sky.” She breathed out. They’d grown up together on the commune on Mindoir. He’d been her first. The first boy she’d kissed. The first boy she’d slept with. The first boy she’d loved. 

The first boy she’d lost, gunned down by the Batarians that horrible day.

Sky. She’d picked his form to be Death.

That was just sick.

He picked up his wine glass again and took a sip looking over the rim at her. “Ah, I know that expression. Why, she’s thinking, why that face, why choose the face of someone I loved? Why choose the boy who seduced me with smuggled chocolate bars and sweet nothings? Why the boy who wooed and coaxed and courted me all those years ago.” 

“Yes, why?”

“Sweet Ophelia, we’ve been wooing each other for years. I pursue you. You pursue me. We’ve chased each other from one end of the galaxy to the other for more than a decade now. Elysium. Ferros. Noveria, Virmire. The skies above Alchera.” His smile was gentle, teasing, his eyes warm. “You nearly stayed with me that time.” He reminded her. When she didn’t respond he continued. “And then after that. So many risks. So reckless. Working with the Illusive Man, with assassins and mercenaries, vigilantes and thieves. Thumbing your nose at the odds, time and time again, all of it culminating in that trip through the Omega-4 relay.” He tilted his head and reached out to stroke her cheek. “It was almost as if you were trying to capture my attention. Were you?”

“Was I what?” 

“Were you trying to get Death to come calling?”

“No.” But she’d hesitated and she knew he’d heard it.

He arched an eyebrow. “Not even after Horizon?” He asked with feigned surprise. 

She swallowed hard, remembering some of the stupid risks she’d taken after that meeting with Kaidan. Releasing Grunt from his tank with no one else there. Drinking Ryncol until she passed out in bars. Charging into firefights, not even noticing if the others were backing her up.

Not even caring. 

She looked up into those blue eyes, and could only tell the truth. “Maybe.” She admitted

“You left me for him. Left me alone on that beach. You went back for him. What did it get you but heartbreak?” He asked.

“We worked through it. I defeated the Collectors. I delayed the Reapers.” The explosion. The crucible firing. She could see it and hear it and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to banish the sight and sound. “I destroyed them. “ She said, but her voice wavered. Had her shooting at that chamber accomplished what it was meant to or had the Catalyst lied? She looked up at him her doubts plain on her face. “I did destroy them, didn’t I?”

Something that was almost pity crossed his face. “You did. And not just them.”

A cold fist clenched around her heart. “The Geth.”

“Dead. Stopped would probably be a more accurate way of putting it.” 

“EDI?” 

“Nonfunctioning.”

 _I’m sorry Joker_. “But I saved the others? Everyone else on the Normandy?” 

His face was closed off. “Yes.” 

If she hadn’t had her hands on the bar she wasn’t certain if she would have remained standing. Her family was alive. Kaidan was alive. She looked up at him with renewed determination. “I want to go back.”

He sighed and seemed almost resigned as if he’d expected nothing else. “You won’t like it back there.” He warned. “You’ve no idea the shape your body is in.”

Her jaw clenched. “I don’t care. I want to go back.”

“You think so? Would you like a taste?” He didn’t wait for her to answer.

She barely blinked and her world changed.

Pain. Her whole body arched and she screamed. White hot pain, burning, aching, stabbing through her when she moved, when she breathed. Her scream stopped only long enough to draw breath again and she became aware of voices around her.

“Get that line in!” 

“By the goddess, how is she still alive?”

They moved her and she screamed again.

And then she was back in the lounge. The pain was gone, the lights, the voices. Had he not caught her she would have fallen, but his arms were around her holding her up, murmuring soothing words,

She could only gasp for breath. 

“Do you see what you’d be going back to? Weeks of that. Months, and for what? A broken galaxy, whole planets that need to be rebuilt, the relays destroyed, and even if that can be fixed, how soon before the bureaucrats and politicians start up again with their petty squabbles and power games? How long before they’re using you for their own selfish ends? ” 

“I don’t care.” She repeated. 

“Stay here, Ophelia. Stay. Please. We don’t have to be on the Normandy. We can go back to that beach. We can go to Mindoir, to the Mindoir of your childhood. We can go anywhere you want. I can be anyone you want." He seemed to shimmer almost and then he changed forms almost too fast for her to process. Her father, her mother, Legion, Mordin, Thane, then back to Sky again, that bright beautiful boy who’d had such promise and who’d had that promise taken away too soon. “You can make it anything you want it to be. I can be anyone you want.” 

She shook her head. “But none of it would be real.” She told him.

And then he shimmered once more and he was Kaidan, his face bloody, his armor broken and burned, the look in his eyes identical to when James had dragged him into the Normandy and he opened his mouth and spoke, the same words Kaidan had spoken, pleading with her. “Don’t leave me behind.” 

For a moment she almost wavered and then she reached up and touched his face and the moment she did he was the way he’d first appeared, impeccably groomed, and wearing the elegant black suit again. 

“If I stayed here that’s exactly what I’d be doing to him. And I can’t do that to him again.”

Death seemed genuinely upset. “So you’ll suffer needlessly, again? For Kaidan, again? For all of those others who in a year will have forgotten all you did for them? You’ll climb right back up on that cross, and sacrifice yourself all over again? The great Commander Shepard the goddess, selfless, more than willing to suffer for everyone else.” 

“No.” She said sharply. “Not this time. This time is for me. This time is selfish. Because I want it, and by God I’ve earned it, and this time I’m taking it.” She walked so she was standing directly in front of him, and met his eyes without flinching. “And not even Death will stop me.”

He exhaled and turned his head away from her. “Stubborn, impossible woman.” He muttered. “Though that should hardly come as a surprise to me at this point in our relationship.” He looked back at her and his face softened. “If that’s what you truly want then that’s what you shall have.” He reached over and picked up both the wine glasses, handing her hers. “A toast then. To the time we’ve spent together.” He raised his glass.

She started to do the same and then hesitated, and he raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Aren’t there rules about being condemned to remain here if I eat or drink anything?” She asked warily.

Death rolled his eyes. “That’s Hades and his dreary little underworld, not Death, Ophelia. Does no one bother to study the classics anymore?” He clinked his glass against hers and they both drank. “Goodbye, Ophelia. We won’t see each other again for some time.”

Before she could question that, she was back. Back with the pain, and the screaming, the light and the frantic shouting. 

And that was her world for days and weeks, drifting in and out of drugged sleep, waking to pain, and prodding and the agony of bandages being changed, but slowly it improved. She improved.

And then one day she opened her eyes and he was there, asleep in a chair beside her hospital bed, unshaven, his hair longer and wilder. She heard her heart rate on the monitor go wild.

“Kaidan.” She said. Her voice sounded hoarse and raw.

His eyes flew open and he was on his knees beside the bed. “Ophelia." Tears of relief shone in his eyes. "You came back to me."

The smile she gave him was oddly triumphant. “Not even Death could stop me.”

**Author's Note:**

> photo inspirations and other Mass Effect related things can be found on my tumblr: [Come Back Home inspiration/style references](http://penthesilea1623.tumblr.com/search/Come+Back+Home)


End file.
